Weblocked
by TheCuriousCrusader
Summary: Sherlock's meetings with Moriarty are becoming more and more frequent, but Sherlock's guilt for his desires may still be holding him back, as well as his loyality to John. However, Moriarty is playing his own game now and Sherlock may be too caught up in his web to untangle it himself.(Warning: Dark themes including dub-con and possibly non-con)


**A/N: Hello dear readers, this story is brought to you by my room mate (we are not Lesbians we are just poor). We hope you enjoy. **

**Reviews are much appreciated :)**

* * *

Moriarty was already dominating the lucid detective. He tenderly lifted his subordinate's legs and rested them on his hips. Sherlock's long, spidery limbs looked quite perfect from that angle, Moriarty thought as he smoothed his hands up and down them.

"There now, I told you it was... easy." he smirked angelically, tilting his head as he admired his prey in its drowsy state.

He bit his own lip as he gazed proudly at Sherlock Holmes; he was unaware now, but Moriarty was keen to make him conscious of the web he had entangled himself in. To this man, it was a win win scenario. Sherlock had too much pride to tattle on him, and Moriarty new that his actions would be subtle enough to maybe even get away with, so long as Sherlock remained lucid and disbelieving. Moriarty knew well enough that Sherlock wanted this anyway; he wouldn't admit to it, but he would certainly allow himself to be lead along.

Sherlock began to stir, his head rolling over his shoulders. It seemed like he had been conscious of himself all along, but Moriarty was wise enough to disallow him any time to adjust fully to his surroundings. He softly, softly grasped Sherlock and began to flex his deft fingertips around the nude detective. Sherlock's eyes flickered open at the unfamiliar touch, but he didn't seem to panic.

"It's not morning yet, ya know. Tsk, it's alright you can just go back to sleep, I'll finish up here." he smirked with venomous elegance, his expressive lips curling into a catlike grin of possession.

"Where am I?" Sherlock asked numbly.

"WE," Jim enunciated, "are in my bedroom. How exciting is that?" he shrugged with a brought grin. He released Sherlock and then leant forward, preparing to whisper something. "You're in my web." He then sat back proudly, nodding once to him and then rolling his eyes as if having some ever silent internal debate.

Jim reinitiated his touch but with a little more rigour, attempting to awaken Sherlock from his drowsy state. Indeed it worked; his bold but firm grasp made the detective bolt up, clutching involuntarily at Jim's shoulder for support.

"Stop, what are you going?" he huffed, shaking his head dizzily.

"You don't really want me to stop." Moriarty told him. "In fact..." he muttered, rotating his hand around Sherlock, forcing an uncontainable gasp out of him, "you want it more now, don't you?" he teased slyly, his nutty brown eyes widening with encouraging madness.

"Stop, I have to get back to John." Sherlock pleaded from a drunken slur. At the mention, Moriarty's cunning expression turned into a look of hubris maleficence.

"Oh come ON!" he shouted, "we're not still thinking about John are we?" the craziness in his blood was echoing through his loud tone. Sherlock winced at the unexpected fury and gasped again as Moriarty, without warning, began to tug Sherlock with uncaring motions. "I suppose you just want me to get this over with?" he sobbed loudly, mocking distress. "Well that's too bad, lover." he sneered cruelly.

Sherlock protested, gripping Jim's shoulder again to avoid the strain of the gradually increasing heat in Moriarty's hand. Jim chuckled spritely at the feel of Sherlock's fingernails digging into his flesh,

"Enjoying that a little more than we want to let on, hmm?" he provoked, driving his force harder so that Sherlock was urged to vocalise his feeling through guttural hushes.

"Please, just let me go." Sherlock groaned, his face resting lazily on Moriarty's shoulder.

"I made some deductions of my own." Jim went on, disregarding Sherlock's repetitive plea. "You've never done this before." he smirked with a twinkling tempo in his tone.

"N-no, I haven't," Sherlock panted, "but stop now."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Jim roared, turning again. He felt Sherlock tense up at his sudden loudness and as he had him already leaned over his shoulder like an infant, Jim purposely placed his other hand on Sherlock's back. "Ah- I'm sorry." he chirruped, "It's not nice when people shout, is it?" Sherlock didn't reply, but he was undeniably reacting.

He wore a helpless frown of guilty relief as he began to succumb to the drowsy pleasure of Jim's perfectly orchestrated rhythms. It wouldn't be long now before Sherlock would have to let go, even someone as green as him would be unable to keep it up for this long. His time soon came and Sherlock's helpless, childish sob of relief was precious to behold as Jim finally released him, however, his amusement was quenched harshly when Sherlock's final cry was the name, John. Moriarty rolled him off his shoulder and into his arms.

"That was easy, wasn't it?" he mocked again, smirking down at the exhausted detective who lolled in his tender hold. "Ah but you still want to go back to your little friend." he pressed his lips together spitefully as he looked down at the man. "Can't let you to that." he sang, shrugging his shoulders. In that instant, the captor produced a sharp splint and pierced Sherlock below the ribs. "I might let you bleed out for a little bit." he said contemplatively, "well" he poured, "just until your unconscious... again."

Sherlock began to fade into blackness once more, his last sight being Moriarty's devilish grin.


End file.
